


Paadhi (One Half)

by TheSouthernFalconer



Series: Kanave Kanave (My Dream, My Dream) [1]
Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Angst, Caring, Experimental Style, Fluff and Angst, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Illnesses, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Magic, Men Crying, Non-Linear Narrative, Panic Attacks, Past Character Death, Pre-Canon, Pre-Relationship, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:02:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26568496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSouthernFalconer/pseuds/TheSouthernFalconer
Summary: Six months into the aftermath of a Masquerade and a ritual he remembers nothing of save for the still-aching fragments of pain and sick, sweeping desperation, Haider even had his breakdowns scheduled to a T.*An AU where it's the Apprentice who gives one half of his heart to bring Asra back to life.
Relationships: Apprentice/Asra (The Arcana)
Series: Kanave Kanave (My Dream, My Dream) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1932358
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16





	Paadhi (One Half)

There was a routine to this, by now, and as long as there was, Haider knew he’d survive. Make the bed, drape the blankets over Asra’s sleeping form, make breakfast, set something out for Faust, sweep and dust and open the shop by nine in the morning. Schedules and accounting, the odd early customer, biting down on his lip to try not to cry when a regular asks after him, or a traveler, thickly accented, “Where’s the other magician?”

“He’s not well.” Dully, firmly. “He’s exhausted himself-“ A well-timed, supplicating smile. They’re good people, those of this town. They’ve lived through too much to ask too many questions. And if all else fails-

“Such were the times, you understand,” and a pained wince, would do the trick.

It wasn’t even a lie.

The money came easier now that everyone had more to spare with the Plague firmly behind them, with how suddenly it ended. The streets were thrumming with what life was left in the city. Haider felt it too, the urge to simply walk down the byways leading through Center City and stare at the canals free of sickly red, lay a hand on the back of some poor soul who was crying into it, still shivering from the remains of a horror that probably won’t ever go away. It’ll be fine, he told himself. His own hometown had recovered too, within less than a year after he’d left it behind, standing and sputtering back to life on shaky limbs. It’ll be fine. If he powers through this, as he did then, it’ll be fine. If he held on, it’ll be fine.

It’s what he did best, he supposed. Holding on.

Ten in the morning, wake Asra up if he hadn’t already, make sure he eats all of breakfast, make sure his magic doesn’t go haywire in the bathtub, and on a better day, hold him by the waist and guide him through the market for as long as he could do it, cling to the tendrils of life in those vacant violet eyes like a lifeline. These things take time. It’ll be fine. He knows to be patient. It’ll be fine. He knew what he was getting into. It’ll be fine. Hold Asra when he shivers and shakes and cries out in pain, brace his palms in his snowy white hair so he won’t tear it out, bring the medicine to his lips, glowing green-gold from Haider’s magic, or rub it on to his scalp, to his temples, modify, hope, pray, try not to break when Asra’s eyes grow frightfully tranquil, distant, and fall shut, waking up with an apology in them- “Master?”

“No, Haidi.”

“Haidi.”

It’ll be fine.

Send Faust out to get Muriel if he’s stayed away for too long, live with the heavy sadness in those somber green eyes, tie the myrrh pouch around Asra’s wrists- put on an easy grin when Faust curls up sadly in her Gemini-patterned blanket, her ruby-red eyes seeking Haider for reassurance.

_Get better?_

“Of course he will, beautiful.”

_Remember Friend?_

“It’ll be fine.”

Six months into the aftermath of a Masquerade and a ritual he remembers nothing of save for the still-aching fragments of pain and sick, sweeping desperation, Haider even had his breakdowns scheduled to a T. Once in two weeks, leaving Faust to watch, or Muriel, when he comes around, slipping into the backroom, drawing the curtains shut, sliding to the floor, drawing his knees to his chest, one hand fisted in his own hair and the other knocking through Asra’s old spellbooks, thumbing through the pages or running his fingers over the deck of cards that still felt wrong in his too-big hands, searching desperately for a whiff of cedarwood, for the memory of a sequined scarf sweeping through the pages, for the slanting, slim writing in purple ink making one-word notes or snake-doodles on the margins, for the exquisite hurt of seeing his own name there, absently scrawled at the back of one of them, the echo of Asra’s voice curving lovingly over it-

_Haidi-_

With one pink-and-purple heart at the end.

So Haider wasn’t prepared for it, not today, not yet, having shut the shop early to nurse Asra through a headache spell so violent that it made him throw up, stutter out an apology he couldn’t fully form before falling limp in his arms. Mechanically, as Haider cleaned and changed the sheets in practiced motions, rubbing salve on to Asra’s back and brushing his hair, he had looked around to see if there was anything that had caused an attack more intense than what he’s had in a few months. 

It wasn’t at all hard to find, the slip of crushed blue paper beneath the wardrobe. Asra must’ve been rummaging for something to wear, he thought, tugged out a tunic that’s been sitting there for far too long, or even the silvery-blue Masquerade gown tucked away at the very back, and found this. A letter, one addressed to Haider, one he seemed to have forgotten to send.

_My dear Haidi-_

He couldn’t do it.

Haider clutched the paper to his chest, barely managed to muffle a sob before he bolted downstairs, ripping the curtains shut behind him. He tried to shove it into a draw out of his reach, put it away until it was the time and place for this, but he couldn’t, not with those words winking up at him, the ink faded but still shiny, the paper gentle in his hands and every line and curve of Asra’s quill prickling at his eyes and nose and throat and wrenching at whatever was left of his heart.

“Fuck.” He tore himself away from the counter he was leaning on, nearly knocking a few trinkets off the shelf, and stumbled into the backroom, the heaving, wretched sob already out of his throat by the time he crumbled to the floor and took another look at it. He could barely see the words through the blur of his tears, most of them about some place he’d been to, somewhere he’s seen, the cadence of Asra’s voice rising and falling in lilting waves over the words, crashing into Haider with a force that left him reeling- this was him, this was _him_ -

_You’d love it here._

Asra’s arms around his, his high, playful laughter in his ear as Haider swept him off his feet, clinging to his shoulders and wrapping his legs around his waist, throwing his head back, white curls dancing in the breeze-

_The stars were so bright tonight- I wish I could’ve seen them with you-_

The tinkle of the shop’s bell when he’d come rushing back, the light footsteps up the creaky stairs- “look what I’ve brought for you, Haidi-“

The satin of Asra’s Masquerade gown as Haider pulled him into a dance, the flush and stutter when he called him beautiful.

Asra’s voice, panting into his skin, his lips hot and hungry against Haider’s, warm thighs braced on Haider’s hips, leaves and twigs snapping, their noise drowned out by the steady fall of the Palace Fountains.

_There was a cabbage vendor here with the sweetest little pixie on his shoulder-_

The excited glitter of violet eyes in the gloom- “watch,” his magic weaving purple and indigo patterns in the dark- “look what I’ve learnt.” The cool of his metal rings as he gently gripped Haider’s wrists- the look of their skin against each other’s- bronze and a deeper bronze. “With a little more force, now-“

_I’ve picked out a figurine for Muriel. Don’t you think the bear on his shelf gets lonely?_

Muriel. Haider’s fingers tightened around the paper, his other hand scrabbling at his shattering heart. “I’m s-sorry,” he choked out. “I’m so sorry.”

Muriel’s tired eyes from beneath the hood of his cloak, Asra’s body, unblemished and breathing again, swaddled in his arms like that of a child. “…Thank you.” The press of emotion in that deep rumble.

Picking Haider up from where he was slumped into the ritual chair, his chest still caving in from the efforts of that bargain.

And later, Muriel’s scarred hands tying and untying sachets of myrrh from around Asra’s neck and wrists, steady while Haider was crying into the brew he was stirring maniacally-

“…He doesn’t have to remember me. Noone does.”

Haider had begged, pleaded, all but fallen at Muriel’s feet. No, he can’t do this to himself. No, he has to keep those sachets around, no he can’t not come here anymore.

 _He’d_ done this to him. Haider had convinced Asra to stay in a dying city when he could have left, _he’d_ dealt a barter that brought him back a shell of who he used to be, he’d taken away from Muriel the only person he’d ever had.

“….Haider.”

He’d done this.

“It’s not your fault.”

Crumpled Asra up, pulled him into a futile project to save a plague-ridden city that drained him and sickened him, left him for dead and brought him back this way, tired and small and helpless and afraid.

If the tables were turned, he knew Asra would’ve done it right.

“It’s not your fault.” Muriel could say it all he wants but-

He knew that it was.

_I can’t wait to come home to you. Isn’t it funny, that now your home is mine? I’m so lucky to have you._

Haider facing up to The Empress, Asra’s emerald pendant clasped to his chest, Faust wound around his arm. His patron's voice, thundering through her lush green realm.

“What are you willing to give, Haider?”

Behind his ribs, his heart thundering like it had been meant to live outside of him all along.

“Anything. Everything.” His own voice, biting back his tears so it wouldn’t shake.

“And what if what you need is too much? More than you can give?”

“There’s nothing I won’t give.” He squared his shoulders, lifted his chin, dug his heels stubbornly into the grass.

His mother’s voice lilted through his mind like a breeze.

My brave, brave Haidi-Haidi.

“There’s nothing I won’t give.” He repeated, louder now, the words ringing out bigger than his body. “For him, there’s nothing I won’t give.”

And even then, even _then,_ Asra still stumbled when he stood, still blinked tearfully up at him when his own name eluded him, still clung to him and cried until the medicine wiped his memories away, still stuttered and shivered over his words.

And even then, he’d heard the reproach that The Empress had not voiced.

If there was nothing you wouldn’t have given, you would have let him leave.

_All my love,_

_Asra xo._

Haider had been trained to heal since the day he’d been able to hold a spoon. He’d nursed childbirth and death, he’d bandaged and brewed and poured medicine into the throats of the most cantankerous old men, into soldiers howling through fear and agony. He’d helped them walk, step by tiny step, talked them out of despair when they stalled and turned in on themselves. He'd seen victim after victim fall to the Plague beneath his desperate hands, and still managed to trudge back into the dungeons, day after day, night after night, calming the cold claws of fear and his sinking heart to salvage the little that could yet be salvaged.

He knew what recovery looked like.

But he couldn’t do _this._

On the worst, on the loneliest of these nights, he would turn to look at Asra curled up at his side, his fingers gripping Haider’s sleep tunic as though for dear life, and see a stranger. On the hardest, on the longest of these days, he watched Asra stare blankly out the window or at his bathwater or at the spirals of his own magic like he couldn’t recognize it, watched him tuck Faust into his lap lovingly, only to ask, with the ghost of a sweet smile, “Her name?”-

And Haider couldn’t remember him anymore.

On the most bitter, on the coldest of these evenings when Haider had nothing but the wounding stabs of his own frustration, he thought that by the time Asra comes back to himself, if he ever does, he himself would be the one to forget.

He’d clamped down on that feeling, combing through Asra’s clothes and books and old scraps of to-do lists, piecing them together in frantic journal entries until his hands went numb, pressing on Muriel – “tell me more, tell me more,” for stories of their childhood that didn’t ache too much to tell, writing, writing, remembering until the ink ran out and the quill ripped through the paper.

And yet, it wasn’t enough.

He didn’t know what Asra’s parents looked like, or what had happened to them. He didn’t know where he’d found Faust, or the first spell he’d ever cast, or how the first person he’d ever kissed had felt against his lips. He could put Asra together, piece by piece, fragment by fragment, pour all his heart and soul into keeping him on his feet, and still, it wouldn’t be enough.

He’d drained Asra of every last inch of his life, and he couldn’t even muster the decency to give back what he’d taken.

“I’m sorry,” Haider gasped, letting go of the letter and burying his face in his knees. “Asra, _Asra-_ “

He pulled and tugged at his own hair, tears and snot seeping through the beige sleeves of his tunic, through the fabric of his palazzo pants. “I’m so _sorry,_ baby-“

He couldn’t even take care of him right.

In the end, Asra hadn’t even trusted Haider enough to tell him that he was sick.

Couldn’t even love him right.

Hands shaking too hard for him to row any further, he’d kicked the gondola off and swum to the Lazaret, whimpering pleas behind his mask, clawing through the red sand until his nails broke and his fingers were soaked with blood. Nothing. Only charred bone and ash, only the pendant he’d left behind at the shop, only Faust, settling forlonly on to Haider’s shoulder.

_Gone._

_Can’t follow._

“No.” He’d said, feeling blindly around for his mask and scarf, burning with guilt and grief, denial and determination. “We’ll bring him back.”

_Can’t follow._

“We’ll bring him back.”

Couldn’t even heal him without hurting him more.

“ _Fuck_ this-“ Now, Haider slammed his head back against the door, the pain spiderwebbing through his skull a relief from the one twisting through his heart. “Can’t do- _anything-_ “

And the door pushed against him, jolting him. Haider scrambled to turn around, bewildered, scooting back, and then it swung open. “Haidi?”

At the name, a violent rush of hope tore through Haider. Pressing his sleeves against his face, he looked up at Asra, trying not to crumble again at how he still lingered outside the door, one hand raised and faltering. He’d changed clothes, Haider noticed, the fresh tunic unbuttoned all the way down his chest. Faust was coiled around Asra’s shoulders, reaching up to nuzzle at his fluffy bedhead.

Haider scrubbed harshly at his face, hoping the mess came off with his sleeves. “A-Asra?” He stood up, frowning. “I thought I locked the-“

“Oh.” Asra raised his other hand, and Haider startled at the warm glow around his palm, as rich and violet as his eyes. Haider’s breath hitched. His magic was getting stronger.

Turning over his palm, watching the glow fade away into the bronze of his skin, Asra frowned. And then he shrugged. “Could do it.”

Despite himself, Haider smiled warmly at him, swallowing the lump in his throat at seeing Asra resurface for a brief moment, one flash of tender light, like a candle in the wind. “That’s great!” He encouraged, hastily sliding away the letter on the ground with his feet. “That really is,” he laughed wetly. “I’m sorry.” He winced, stepping out of the backroom into the store. “Did I wake you up?”

Couldn’t even let him sleep.

Asra shook his head, looking up at him for a moment before dropping his gaze with a troubled frown. “Haidi, I-“ He cast around, biting his lip.

Haider ducked his head, trying to catch his eyes. “What is it?”

Asra didn’t answer, but reached out to take Haider’s hand in his, lacing his smaller fingers through Haider’s. Haider froze, not daring to move or let out the gasp building in his throat as Asra slowly brought their entwined hands to his own chest. Haider kept his hand there, feeling Asra’s heart skip and stutter in a rhythm just like his own.

“Hurts.” He said simply, amethyst eyes peering into the rich brown of Haider’s. “It hurts.”

Asra braced his other hand on Haider’s chest, their breaths rising and falling together, in tandem with their hearts.

Hearts.

The broken half of Haider’s thudding and weeping in Asra’s chest.

The heart he’d given, with no thought or hesitation, no anger or regret at losing it.

“It hurts.”

“I’m sorry.” Haider’s eyes welled up again.

“Shh.”

Asra sighed, and took one step, letting Faust slither down his arm to the counter, and he closed the distance between them, settling on to Haider’s broad chest, his head level against Haider’s heart, snowy hair brushing him as he shifted to wrap both his arms around his waist.

With a choked sob, Haider returned the embrace, strong arms pulling Asra even closer, closing protectively around him, sniffling wordlessly.

“Haidi-“ Asra’s voice was whisper-soft, his pale lashes fluttering. “Don’t cry.” And then, as though led by an instinct he couldn’t yet remember, “I’m here.”

“Oh-“ Haider sagged against Asra, worried for a moment that he’d fall on top of him, but Asra held him fast, bunching his fingers in the fabric of Haider’s tunic. The exhaustion from holding himself tall and tenacious, day after day, month after month, of letting the pain drive through him and roll off his back, of wearing a brave face even when all his muscles protested at the smile he managed to concoct, of grieving and rejoicing, mourning and loving, keeping Asra and letting him go, all at once, the secrets he’d kept heavy in the pit of his stomach, the worry gnawing at him that he’d broken Asra in some irreparable way, the terror and agony that he pushed down to write to his friends in his hometown- “it’s okay, I’m doing okay, he’s alright, only a little confused-“ all came unraveled, as he let his shoulders slump, let his knees buckle, and let Asra hold him, sink him into the cushioned bench behind the counter, dropping beside him, soft hands petting Haider’s thick black hair. “I’m here.”

_I’m here, Haidi._

In better times, it was the swill of a teacup, a kettle shooting steam. The tuck-tuck of knitting needles, a quilt drawn snug over his form, incense rising to fill the air in soothing spirals. A letter on soft blue paper, floating in through the shop’s open window.

_I’m here, Haidi._

Asra’s gentle tentative movements became more assured, fingers dipping into Haider’s hair, tugging ever-so-softly, his cheek nuzzling against Haider’s. “I’m here.” Faust was a warm weight around Haider’s knee.

_Here, Friend. Here._

_Not gone._

_Not alone._

_Here._

Nestled in that gentle warmth, the kinder parts of these past few months came flooding back to Haider. Asra sniffing the air for incense, rushing across the room and only stumbling into Haider’s arms, the way his lips had tested out his name again- “Haidi?”, the way Haider had found him on the kitchen floor, feeding mealworms to Faust and scratching her chin, humming quietly to himself, the way, clutching a pillow close to his chest, he had murmured tunelessly the words to an old song without it pulling him into a spiral-

“The Fox went out on a chilly night-“ laughing quietly when Haider joined in, wide-eyed with frantic hope and wonder- “And hoped the Star would give him light-“

The way he’d pressed his palm to the fireplace, to watch the embers glow and gleam from his magic.

And just now, Asra standing at the door to the backroom, catching him when he fell-

Here. Not gone. Not the same, but not gone.

Haider screwed his eyes shut, and squeezed Asra’s hand, feeling the curve of his smile as he squeezed back. “I’m here, too.” He said, instead of the “I love you,” that tried to rush past his lips.

And I will be, he promised, silently.

As long as it takes for you to come back to yourself, and no matter who you are when you do, even if it isn’t to me you come back towards-

I’ll be here.

I’ll wait.

You’ve always loved my patience. And you’ll have as much as you need of it.

If I could have you here, if only in flashes, if only a little different, ragged around the edges, if I could have you, alive and breathing, your heart thrumming with life, see you smile and learn and live, there’s nothing I wouldn’t give you.

After what feels like hours, Asra pulled away gently, brushing Haider’s hair back. He laid his hand on his chest, and felt the steady, one-two, one-two, of his own heart.

“Better.” Asra smiled, his eyes lighting up with it.

“Better.” Haider agreed, straightening his hunched shoulders, leaning on the counter to stand, and pull Asra up along with him so they stood side by side. Another “I love you” rose and died in his throat. “Better.”

**Author's Note:**

> Uh yeah you can pry role reversal aus from my cold dead hands..
> 
> Tumblr: AtypicalAcademic


End file.
